The heart of the chamber stood a black marble table—cold, smooth, and ancient—surrounded by eleven high-backed chairs where the Council of Arcane Balance convened. A twelfth chair stood empty, cracked through its center—a relic of a long-banished member who once dabbled in forbidden arts.
At the table's center sat a glowing crystal orb, rotating slowly above an enchanted pedestal. Seated around it were representatives of each magical race: vampires, witches, Lycans, elementals, seers, and the ancient Scribes of Balance. Tension hummed like a drawn bowstring.
"Bring in the boy," rasped High Scribe Venemar, his eyes pale as snow.
The heavy iron doors creaked open as two silent guardians entered, flanking a hooded figure. Shackles imbued with anti-magic symbols clinked softly with each step. Caveen was pushed forward, his sharp golden eyes defiant, yet shadowed with uncertainty.
"You will not hurt him," growled Carl's voice in Caveen's memory. "You are strong, my son. You must be."
But now, face-to-face with the most powerful magical coalition in the realm, Caveen felt far less than strong.
The council members stood in unison, chanting in low tones as the orb pulsed brighter. Ribbons of blue and crimson light coiled around Caveen's limbs, lifting him gently from the ground, suspending him like a butterfly in a glass jar.
"Begin the reading," commanded Elva, the seer from the Sapphic Eye, her pupils a swirling mist.
As the enchantments settled around Caveen, the orb shifted colors—from blue to violet, then to gold. His aura became visible: a swirling storm of multiple hues.
"Unusual," murmured one vampire elder. "I sense vampire lineage—clear and dominant."
"And Lycan," added Jarak, the Alpha emissary. "No doubt he is Carl's son."
Then came a flicker. A pulse of darkness. The orb dimmed, and then—flared crimson.
"Wait…" gasped Elva. "There's something else—something... forbidden."
The orb erupted in a spasm of shadow. Tendrils of black flame slithered around Caveen's form, reacting not with malice, but protection.
"He's shielding," whispered Lorae, the witch representative. "Instinctive… ancestral magic…"
"No," said another. "That's not shielding. That's black magic."
A heavy silence fell.
"Impossible," said Venemar coldly. "That line was extinguished generations ago."
"No... not extinguished. Hidden," Lorae corrected, staring deeper into the orb. "Look closely—this is not mere shadow manipulation. This is the mark of the Carellos. The blood of the Black Witches."
Chairs scraped against stone as the council stirred in alarm.
"The Last black magic of Carellos were wiped out!" someone hissed. "Banished for what they did during the Wars of Collapse!"
Caveen groaned softly, the magic around him pressing into his skin, revealing deeper layers of his soul's origin. Memories flickered in him like broken film reels. A woman's cry. A forest. A man roaring in agony. Fangs. Claws. Blood.
"Elva," Venemar barked. "Can you isolate the source?"
The seer moved to the orb, placing her palm on its surface. A moment passed, then her face went pale.
"There's a lock," she whispered. "A memory buried deep within him. Not natural. Crafted—likely by a witch of high power."
The room fell cold.
"Someone concealed this boy's true bloodline," Elva continued. "Witchcraft laced with love and desperation. Whoever did this… wanted to hide the truth."
Venemar stood. "Then we must unbind it. We cannot risk a new heir of the Carellos walking unchecked. The last one nearly collapsed the barrier between realms."
"But he is just a child," Lorae countered. "Look at him. He doesn't even know. Whatever magic is there—it's dormant. We should not provoke it."
"We cannot ignore it!" barked the vampire elder. "You know what they're capable of."
A young scribe stood at the edge of the chamber. "Forgive me, council... but if the boy is part vampire, Lycan, and Carellos witch—then his potential is beyond anything we've documented. He could become... a Singularity."
The word hung like a guillotine.
"Singularity" was a myth—spoken only in whispers. A being born of multiple ancestral lines with access to all forms of power, including those long thought lost or forbidden.
Caveen's body convulsed slightly. The tendrils around him grew frantic.
"Someone must have known," Elva said. "This kind of lineage doesn't happen by accident."
"He's Valus's grandson," murmured Lorae. "And Vienna's…"
That name made Venemar flinch.
"So it is true," he murmured darkly. "The old blood survives."
Elva nodded solemnly. "The woman known as Aster… she was not just an adopted human. She was the vessel. A witch whose lineage was concealed even from herself. Likely a surviving member of the black magic user of Carellos."
"And the father?" Venemar asked.
"Carl, Alpha of the Silvermoon pack," replied Lorae. "The records confirm his soul bonded under the Bloodmoon ritual to Aster—now known as Maika."
"Then this boy," Venemar concluded, turning to the council, "is the child of a forbidden union."
They all looked to Caveen, still unconscious and floating, his aura pulsing with a mix of warmth and danger.
"What do we do with him?" asked Jarak gravely.
Silence.
"We cannot kill a child for what he might become," Lorae finally said. "But we cannot allow him to return unmonitored."
Venemar's voice was grim. "We seal his powers. For now. A temporary suppression spell until the prophecy is clearer. But he will remain in council custody until further notice."
The council murmured in uneasy agreement.
From the shadows, a hooded figure emerged silently. A whisper of a man—neither vampire nor witch. The Scribe of Forgotten Lore.
He raised one finger. "Beware," he said quietly. "Suppressing power... does not erase destiny."
They watched him disappear into darkness.
As they prepared the ritual of suppression, Caveen's lips moved ever so slightly. A name.
"...Maika…"